Ride

April 22, 2008

I gazed over at the woman sitting in her sterile seat. She had her shoes in a messy pile. Her feet were propped up on her bag like an art exhibit for the world to behold. They were white with callous on her skin like an elephant that had wandered the African countryside for ages. She was eating from a cup consisting of all of K.F.C.’s lower qualities combined. I thought to myself, “Have we really come to a point in our society where our fast food restaurants have to feed us like an invalid with a snapped jaw?”. With precision she placed each bite in the corner of her mouth. As she swallowed, she exposed the entire contents of her moustache adorned mouth.

I had to sit back and question myself. How could I ever desire to give of myself when I find the simple act of eating to be foul? Is my heart in the wrong place? How often have people gazed at me with the same contempt?

Where is the resolution in all of this? In the end, I don’t think there is any. Thoughts are like tiny vessels. It is up to me to decipher which ones to ride into this sunset that we call life.